What the Groom Wants

by Jade Lee

  She swallowed her next words. She couldn’t voice what she felt, except in her own thoughts. I want a reason for you to know me after tomorrow. A reason for you not to abandon me.

  He stroked her brow. “We have plenty of time.”

  “We have tonight,” she said. “Please.”

  He settled between her legs, his cock teasing her entrance, going only so far, and no farther. “I should have used a French letter yesterday. I wasn’t thinking—”

  “No,” she said as she stroked his sides. It was the only part of him she could reach just then. “I want to be the mother of your child.”

  His eyes lighted up with an intensity that stole her breath. “Yes,” he said. One word, and then he thrust.

  She cried out at the invasion, even as every part of her stretched. She squeezed him with her thighs then wrapped her legs around him. She wanted to speak. She wanted to tell him how perfect this was, but her words had left her. All that she knew was him.

  Him as he slowly pulled back.

  Him as he tightened his thighs before slamming forward.

  Him as his strokes became harder and faster, and his face pulled tight.

  Him as his eyes held hers, as his breath grew short.

  Him.

  Him.

  Him.

  “Radley!”

  Ecstasy.

  And after that, a single thought: this was love, and it would be gone tomorrow.

  Twenty-five

  He left before dawn. Wendy tried to keep him with her and succeeded for a bit. All it took was a single kiss, and he returned to bed. The morning’s lovemaking was slow and tender, and all the more devastating for her, knowing that it was their last time.

  Eventually, he had to leave, and so he kissed her and whispered, “It will be over tonight. Then we can begin our lives together. Plan our wedding, name our children, anything you want, starting tonight.”

  She kept her tears back long enough for him to leave. Then she sobbed until her belly ached, and her throat was raw. But even that had to end. So she rose, dressed in her ugliest gown, and announced loudly to anyone who wanted to listen that she was going to work at the shop.

  Seelye gave her a searching look then ordered the carriage. Thankfully, he didn’t speak. She had no idea what she would say if he did and felt like she was a breath away from shattering anyway. So she left and spent all that time in the carriage, praying that she wasn’t destroying everything, even though she knew she was.

  She didn’t go to the shop. She couldn’t face everyone there. So she loitered at a nearby park, and though the timing was critical, she waited until the last moment to arrive at the church. This was hard enough without waiting for Damon to appear. She slipped into a side room meant for brides and changed into the dress she had waiting. It was a plain white gown with a blood-red sash—a matching ribbon wove through her hair. Nothing elaborate, except for the hidden pocket along the side. Then—finally—Father Wollet knocked on her door and told her it was time.

  She took a breath, then forced herself to begin. She left the room and walked all the way around so that she entered the church from the back. No one took her arm, and there was no father to give her away, as she walked up the aisle in a church filled to bursting with people. There was no music, no decoration. Simply a church full of people she didn’t know.

  A lot of people, she realized with shock. She had expected Damon to invite his most trusted lieutenants, but not the nearly hundred and fifty people who stuffed the pews of this modest church.

  They were all of a disreputable ilk, from the tarts who worked in his brothels through titled lords who frequented his hells. She caught sight of the man who ran the pickpocket ring and a bishop with a drinking problem. And they all stared as she walked slowly up the aisle.

  She looked about and tried not to falter. Sweet heaven, she’d never felt so alone. This was her wedding, and no one she liked had attended. Not her mother, nor her brother, nor anyone from the dress shop.

  She hadn’t wanted them here. In truth, she was too ashamed of what she was doing to see anyone she cared about here. But it made everything so much harder.

  The altar was lit, and Damon stood there looking resplendent in his dark clothing. Everything he wore was black. Everything. Even his linen shirt and the black onyx pin for his cravat. His eyes gleamed as she approached, and his grin flashed white. Likely, he saw that she wore the damned green earrings. She had gotten them back from Radley on the excuse that she wanted to return them to where they belonged. He hadn’t questioned her, thank God, and she hated having the things touching her, but she had to do this.

  “You look beautiful,” he said as she finally made it to Damon’s side. “We match perfectly.”

  She didn’t answer, but she knew what he meant. White and black, with her blood-red ribbon as accent. Then he completed the picture by handing her a bouquet of pale white coriander, the flower of lust.

  “I am a lucky man today.”

  She gripped the bouquet and dipped her chin. She didn’t trust her voice to speak. He smiled, his eyes glinting with humor, as if he took pleasure in her anxiety. And then he held out his hand.

  “Shall we?” He gestured to the altar where Father Wollet waited in his vestments, his florid face looking waxy as he weaved on his feet. Apparently, the good father wasn’t feeling well.

  “N-no,” she said, her voice breaking on the word. Then she took hold of herself. This would never work if she looked like a timid flower. So she straightened her shoulders and dropped Damon’s hand. He didn’t want to let go, but she managed to wriggle free. “Not yet. We need an agreement first.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Come, come, I agree to your terms, but let’s not bore these people with the details.”

  She frowned and purposely raised her voice to carry throughout the church. “Since you chose to invite these honored guests, they ought to know the specifics behind our wedding.” Then she flashed a smile. “And I won’t be saying, ‘I do’ without it.”

  “Anything you want, my dear,” he said with a beautifully executed bow. And as he straightened, he pulled out her written conditions. “Shall I read it aloud?”

  She shrugged. She cared not if he read it aloud, so long as he signed it. But Damon had a flare for the theatrical, so he turned to face the assembled guests.

  “My lady love’s first condition of our marriage is as follows: no harm will come to her family, friends, or their loved ones through me. Namely, the Duke of Bucklynde, his family, or any person who works at her dress shop.” He listed the names she had written. “Then she adds the names of her dear brother and mother.”

  “Do you agree to that?” she asked.

  “Really, Wendy, do you think me that bloodthirsty? I would never want to harm anyone, least of all, one of your friends.”

  She nodded. “So you agree to the forfeit then.” She noted that he hadn’t read that aloud, so she stated it. “If it be proved before an officer of the law that you willfully caused harm to any of those listed persons, then you forfeit all your many businesses to me.”

  “My dear—”

  “Do you agree?”

  “Yes,” he said, though the word carried an abundance of condescension. No doubt he was thinking that as a married couple, whatever came to her, would go right back to him anyway. He was right, of course, but she didn’t quibble.

  “Excellent. Next condition,” she prompted with a mocking smile.

  He lifted the paper. “Number two. I will receive ownership in A Lady’s Favor dress shop.” He looked up and blew her a kiss. “Which is the premier dress shop of the haut ton. In return, I shall gift my lady love with partnership in all the gaming hells. Equal halves, I believe.”

  She nodded. “I want to be trained in your business, Damon. I want to run them alongside you.”

  “Of course, my dear. You do realize that it will all be mine upon our marriage.”

  She did. “But your word that you will teach me and a
llow me responsibility of half your hells within a year.” And, more important, she needed everyone to know that they had struck this bargain. That she was, indeed, his heir apparent, at least for now.

  “Five years.”

  “Three.”

  “Seven years.”

  “I am leaving you the brothels. I want nothing to do with them.” She lifted her chin. “Two years, or I turn and walk out now.”

  He grinned. “Three years, and you learn the brothels too. And you train the woman of my choice at the dress shop.”

  She blinked coyly. “You don’t want to learn it yourself?”

  “And violate that sanctum of female frippery? Nonsense, my dear.”

  She took a deep breath, weighing the bargain, then nodded. “Agreed.”

  “Excellent!” He glanced at the congregation. “Such a woman I am getting. You cannot imagine how stimulating she is.”

  Laughter followed his bawdy comment, and Wendy cursed the blush that heated her cheeks. Such a mild comment, and yet, she felt the shame of allowing him to say such things. Still, she held her head high as she pulled ink and a quill from her pocket.

  “Shall we sign?” she asked.

  “Not quite yet,” he countered. “I have a condition of my own.”

  Of course he did. She tilted her head, waiting to hear what he wanted.

  “You agree to be trained—by me—in the sexual arts. My rules, my mastery.”

  She opened her mouth to argue. In truth, once they were wed, he would have rights to do whatever he wanted, but she would fight him, and they both knew it. So, before she could get a word in, he raised his finger to stop her.

  “No arguments, no fighting. You will report to my training location three nights a week from dusk until dawn.”

  “No,” she whispered. The very idea repulsed her.

  “If you do not, I will chain you there tonight and not let you free until I deem you appropriately broken.”

  She blinked, seeing the determination in his gaze. And the excitement. Either way, he would break her. At least this way, she would be free four days of the week, or as free as any wife could be.

  “Agreed,” she whispered.

  “I am sorry, my love,” he said in a carrying voice. “I’m afraid the others couldn’t hear you.”

  “Agreed,” she all but shouted. Then she held out the ink and quill. He took it then crossed the pulpit to sign.

  She followed him slowly, her steps dragging, as she fought her decision. Did she really want to do this? Could she carry through?

  He scrawled their terms and his signature with a flourish then held out the quill. She stepped forward, seeing that he had added his condition to her list. There it was in stark black ink: her promise to allow his mastery over her. The idea made her nauseous. But this was the only way she could keep Radley safe. Keep her friends and her family alive. It wasn’t a guarantee, but it was the best she could do.

  So she signed.

  Then as she picked up the agreement, he whisked it away. “Not so fast, my dear. I think I’ll keep this.” He tucked it inside his jacket.

  “No, I want it.”

  He smiled. “Perhaps we should leave it in the care of the dear bishop,” he said, as a man in the pews stood and crossed to Damon. “He’s also the man who signed our special license to wed. We want to be sure everything is legal, now don’t we?”

  “Of course,” she mumbled, her heart beating painfully in her throat as she stared at the bishop. The man was one step below the Archbishop of Canterbury, and he was here at her wedding. Was there no end to Damon’s reach?

  Apparently not, for the cleric took hold of the document.

  “You can thank your brother Bernard for reminding me about a special license” continued Damon in a cheery voice. “I’d almost forgotten, until he asked if such a hasty arrangement was legal.” He chucked her under her chin, and she had to restrain herself from biting his finger. “But then, I know how eager you are to grace my bed.”

  Again, the bawdy laughter floated around her. She ignored it, finding it easier this time to block it away. Perhaps that was because Damon had taken her arm and had steered her toward the altar. He even remembered to press her bouquet of flowers into her limp hand as he smirked.

  This was happening, she thought dully, as they took their position in front of Father Wollet. She was marrying Demon Damon. Right now.

  She didn’t hear the Father’s words. The sounds blurred together. Damon had to prompt her—apparently, more than once—to say, “I do.”

  A minute, or an eon, later, he pushed a ring onto her finger. A signet ring, she realized, one that he had created for himself. She narrowed her eyes. Good God, it was a parody of a shield of honor with a demon in the center on a field of blood.

  Charming.

  “So it is done?” she rasped. She looked to the priest. “We are wed?”

  The man nodded. “It is done.”

  Which was the exact moment a commotion began at the back of the church.

  Twenty-six

  Radley ground his teeth. It was a terrible habit, one that gave him headaches and made his jaw ache unbearably. It only happened in those interminable hours before a battle. Like now.

  Where the hell was Damon?

  He had his men scattered about the old neighborhood, hiding in shadows or in people’s homes, scouting for any sign of the bastard or his men. Meanwhile, Radley waited in the darkness of Wendy’s old flat, grinding his teeth and counting the seconds.

  Had Damon found out about the plan? Obviously, he had, but how? And besides, he knew Damon. Even if the bastard had figured everything out, he’d still be here just to taunt Radley.

  So what was going on?

  A knock sounded on the door, and Radley tensed. He had his sword in his right fist, a dagger in his left, but he didn’t move. Something was off about that knock. It wasn’t bold enough to be Damon’s.

  Another knock, and then the doorknob twisted. “Don’t hit me. Damon’s not coming.” Bernard’s voice. Damn it!

  Radley crossed the room and jerked the door open. He’d barely seen Bernard’s face before he set his dagger tip to the man’s jaw. He wasn’t going to kill the man, but he was angry and needed to express it somehow.

  “What happened? Is Wendy all right? Where’s Damon?”

  Bernard swallowed, his body frozen, half in and half out of the room.

  “Tell me!” Radley bellowed.

  “They’re at the church getting married.”

  “What!” It was all that he could do to stop his fist from twitching enough to pierce Bernard’s jaw.

  “I’ll take you there, but we have to be quick.”

  Radley jerked his weapons back, slamming them into their scabbards with barely leashed fury. He didn’t bother speaking to Bernard. The man knew Radley was poised on the edge of lethal violence. So with a quick nod, the man turned and led the way. He was fast, thank God, and before long, the two of them—plus a trail of Radley’s men—were running through the London streets to the church.

  Bernard slowed as they got close, but Radley barely paused. He hadn’t wanted to think about what Bernard had said—hadn’t wanted to believe it—but the questions had circled, even as they ran through London. Why would Wendy do this? Why would she marry that bastard? Why couldn’t she trust him to handle it? Even if today’s plan hadn’t worked, he would have figured something else out. But not if she married the man! How could she do this?

  He had no answers and wouldn’t until he could see for himself what was going on. So he ruthlessly shoved all doubt aside. With a flick of his wrist, he ordered his men to surround the church. Whatever was going on inside, he’d be damned if the Demon left the church alive.

  Not now. Not after marrying her.

  Why had she done it?

  He stomped to the entrance and dragged the heavy doors open. What he saw inside made his heart go dead. But what he heard made his entire body freeze in horror.

  Wendy
stood at the top of the aisle, her face as ghostly pale as her white gown. She’d dropped a bouquet of flowers on the floor beside her feet, so nothing prevented his view of a heavy ring on her finger. He didn’t have to guess whose ring it was. Damon stood beside her, his expression twisting into one of pure hatred.

  The reason for the man’s anger came in the form of Radley’s sister. Caroline was walking up the aisle, speaking in a loud voice as she moved. And even though her voice practically throbbed with emotion, her body was calm, her elegant figure straight and proud.

  “Thin like a quill and weak. I was a girl at the time and knew nothing of men. I remember wondering if he meant to poke me with that? Like a pin. But it was too puny.” She waved a hand at him. “That’s why he carries knives, you know. They’re thicker than his cock.”

  Snorts of laughter erupted around the church, quickly stifled when Damon surged forward.

  “Kill her,” he rasped.

  Wendy jerked on his hand. “You can’t! You promised!”

  He shoved her aside, and she tripped and fell backwards against the altar. “I will do as I bloody well please.” Then he drew a pistol from inside his jacket. Radley jerked, rapidly evaluating his choices. There wasn’t time to dive in front of his sister before the blackguard could sight and fire.

  Meanwhile, apparently oblivious to the threat, Caroline kept advancing, her words ringing through the room. “And he had a smell, you know? Like rancid meat. Are you sure he still has a cock, Wendy? It may have fallen off by now.”

  Radley took three steps forward, moving to protect his sister. Too slow, too slow! Especially as the congregation started to rise. Two thugs noticed him and immediately intercepted. He knocked them down easily—not drawing blood yet—but there were too many between him and Caroline. He had enough time to look up, grateful to see that the Scot was suddenly there. He stood in front of Caroline, his expression dark, and a… was that a claymore in the man’s hand?

  “I think that’s enough, love,” the man said, his voice low, but strong enough to be heard.